


Stop Dreaming

by persxphone



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, but i hope you guys enjoy it, this is just a writing warm up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:52:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12811047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persxphone/pseuds/persxphone
Summary: Clarke's daydreaming when she should be working. It's entirely Bellamy's fault, despite the fact he is unconscious and not at all in control of her actions.





	Stop Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> Seems like I disappear from AO3 a lot. I went to school and started writing a novel. Maybe some day I'll finish all my fics?

He's so gorgeous when he isn't busy running his mouth. Lips slightly parted, chapped at the edges. Freckles trying desperate to hide the softest sunburn over his cheeks. It's not fair. It's not fair. How can any human have the right to be so beautiful? She'd kill for those lashes, fanned over high cheek bones. He looks, in honesty, as regal as the king he acts like he is. Except, maybe, for those errant curls. He could really use a trim.

It's for that reason alone that she's leaning in close, fingertips feather light across his brow. Here she can see where his dimples will show when he smiles, cocky and confident. She can see where fine lines are beginning to form, a map of concentration and concern. There's deeper marks framing his eyes, crows feet gouged into his tan. They'll get deeper as he gets older. Or they should, anyway. It seems lately that his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes, that it's for sarcasm and show rather than any degree of true merriment. And she can't help thinking that's some kind of crime against the world as a whole, messed up and chaotic as it is. Ridiculous, of course. Bellamy Blake's smile is not the answer to humanity's problems.

He does have a knack for fixing things, however. For taking care of them. Motivating them. Octavia isn't the only younger sibling he has anymore: there's dozens of them down here on the ground looking up to him and following him, trailing after him for support and recognition. He's a big brother to so many of them. And he does a damn good job. Even _she_ has felt the warmth of that support; not that she's going to admit that.

He sighs in his sleep, shifting to one side. She can't help clicking her tongue in disapproval. He just hurt that shoulder. He shouldn't be sleeping on it.

She's about to roll back to her desk when a breeze ruffles the tarp over the drop ship's doors. Evening is coming and it's about to get cold. She gets up with a reluctant sigh and finds a blanket. He's her patient, and that means it's her turn to take care of him. She's not about to shirk her duty just because he has a severe attitude problem. The blanket isn't much, but it's better than nothing, and she lays the heavy fabric over his frame, pulling it up to his chin. For half a second she considers tucking him in, but his limbs are sprawled over the tiny cot and she's certain he wouldn't take kindly to having his movements restricted like that. She leaves it for now. If he kicks the blanket off, maybe she'll change her mind.

Lithe fingers catch the hem of her shirt as she turns away.

"Thanks."

Her cheeks heat. His voice is clear, though still the familiar, graveled baritone. He's been awake for more than a couple seconds. How long has he been awake? How long has he simply let her stare at him?

"Don't lay on your shoulder. You'll just end up wrecking it again."

"Sure thing, princess."


End file.
